


from a king to his friend

by doop_doop



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Introspection, M/M, POV Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, POV First Person, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-23 22:08:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21327460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doop_doop/pseuds/doop_doop
Summary: Your head is on my shoulder. I think you may be asleep....Around me I hear the ambient noise of the palace - distant, muffled voices, the vibrations of footsteps. It is impossible to forget the world is still turning, even as we sit still; but I want to frame this moment forever, press it between the pages of a book as one would a flower and halt its fading in my memory.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 18
Kudos: 70





	from a king to his friend

Your head is on my shoulder. I think you may be asleep.

Your hair is tied back, but shorter strands of it have come loose and fallen forward to brush lightly against your forehead. You are on my bad side, but I shift to see you better. It is hard to do so without jostling you, but I move slowly - this is a stealth mission, and I have done a few of those in my time.

You are asleep, completely asleep - I can see your closed eyes and hear your deep, even breaths. No, not just hear, but _ feel, _ each inhalation rocking me ever so slightly. I hold very still and pretend I can feel your heartbeat, but logically I know that’s just my own. It is beating like a prey animal’s, rapid and hard.

You twitch and mutter in your sleep. It stirs something inside me to know that I am allowed to see you so uncomposed. When you wake up you’ll be mortified, but there are only so many moments like this you’ve given me, and I treasure every single one of them. 

I have always envied your composure. I’ve made a fool of myself in front of you more times than I can count, much more than the other way around. I deserve to be given the power to make you blush in embarrassment once in a while. (Do I? Perhaps not, but I want that power, regardless.)

Your hands are resting lightly on the tops of your thighs, one curved on its side, the other palm-up. I can see your calluses from here, the skin worn hard in places from wielding the same weapon a thousand times. I know those calluses well - I have seen your hands so often - but rarely have I felt them. Are your hands are hard as they look, the scars rough to the touch? Or are they soft? I wonder sometimes if it’s the latter; for all your calluses and hardness your hands are not bony - they are much thicker than mine. 

Do you know that I want to take them? That, right now, I am staring at one - your right, the one sitting palm-up - and longing to twine my fingers with yours, to rub my thumb along your wrist? During the day I try to hide it, though I don’t know how successful I am. I have always been an open book, and you are sharp and know me well; perhaps you guessed this secret of mine years ago. 

Or perhaps the feeling has been a part of me for so long you’ve overlooked it all this time. I would like for that to be true, although I doubt it. When I was younger my feelings for you gave me a sense of shame so intense it was almost physical, something heavy I carried around, but recently I have begun to see my love for you as something good, even beautiful. (That any part of me could even possibly be called beautiful is a hard truth to grasp, something I once would have laughed at. But if I asked, I think you would call me beautiful, and insist you were telling the truth. I am learning from you to be kinder to myself.)

It is almost time for dinner; the window provides less light than it did a minute ago, and in a few more minutes we will be entirely in darkness. Around me I hear the ambient noise of the palace - distant, muffled voices, the vibrations of footsteps. It is impossible to forget the world is still turning, even as we sit still; but I want to frame this moment forever, press it between the pages of a book as one would a flower and halt its fading in my memory.

I will sit here until you wake. After that… 

After that I will ask to speak to you about an important matter. You will look at me in concern, perhaps, or just curiosity; you may ask if something is wrong. _ No, _ I will say, _ nothing’s wrong; _ but my own anxiety will betray me, and you’ll frown in worry. 

_ Dedue, _ I will say. _ I have something I wish to say to you. _

You will wait patiently, letting me gather the words. I will pace back and forth, because even if I plan this speech out in advance, even if I memorize it as one might memorize the lines of a play, I will forget it right when it is needed. My heart is beating so hard now, just from your cheek against my shoulder - imagine how it will pound when I stand before you, your patient eyes on me.

_ Dedue, _ I will say, _ I must confess, I have… feelings for you. _

No - no, that is vague and cliched. I must say: _ Dedue, I love you. _ Or is that too forward? 

The idea is laughable - that for all we’ve been through, those words will be the thing that drives you away. No, there is no such thing as too forward with you - I will be direct.

_ Dedue, I love you. I am in love with you. _ Even just saying the words in my head now makes my throat clench and my hands shake. But is it out of fear, or excitement? - because, as foolish as it is, there is some part of me that hopes that you will expect this, that you will look at me in relief and joy and say- 

You are stirring now, and not in the manner of a sleeping man. I must pause my daydream. 

The weight of your head lifts from my shoulder, leaving me feeling cold and too light. Your hands leave your lap and rub your eyes, and you make a noise, a groan of tiredness, hoarse and undignified - you are still too sleepy to be entirely composed, and it warms me.

You look around, taking in your surroundings. Then your eyes fall on me.

Even in the dim light I catch the faint tinge of your blush. I smile wordlessly, hoping to let you know it’s alright; after a moment’s hesitation, you smile back. 

The loose strands of your hair catch my eye again, and I long to push them out of your face - but that will come in its time, if it is meant to be. I hold myself back, and get to my feet. 

“Dedue,” I say slowly, my heart in my throat, “I have something I wish to say to you.”

**Author's Note:**

> [\- my twitter](https://twitter.com/doop_doop2)   



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